Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  “It is, of course, my honor to help if I can. But to be honest, what could I say of use to them?”

  “Exactly. Ach, this is all very embarrassing.”

  “Do not upset yourself. The police only do their job.”

  “Yes, it’s all about them, isn’t it? Their job, their time…they don’t care about my dilemma. And the way they talk…I tell you, there’s little finesse among them. They leave you feeling like you’re the criminal.”

  “Ah, this I understand. In the old country that was fact of life.” Borodin also thought linking Sorenson to the others could be a useful option should the need arise. But for the moment, he nodded, all compassion and concern.

  So the cops had found what he had planted at both residences. Good. The bitches were costing him a tidy sum, yet nothing compared to what he stood to lose if he didn’t silence them both. Nevertheless, hearing how easy it was to make the police believe in Tatiana and Sasha’s guilt was gratifying and restored his faith in human nature. He relied on people believing that where there was smoke, there was fire.

  Now was the time to award himself another small pleasure as he set in motion the next precaution.

  “You can count on my support. Whatever I can do,” he said placing his hand over his black pearl tiepin. “Please, do not hesitate.” Then he sighed. “But could I inconvenience you with my business for one moment?”

  “Of course. It means more than you can know to see that you aren’t letting this unfortunate situation taint your opinion of our firm. And life must go on, eh?” Sighing again, Sorenson gestured invitingly, his smile as brave. “Now, exactly what can I do for you?”

  “I am in need of liquidating my portfolio.”

  Arne Sorenson’s jaw went slack. “W-why? I mean…Melor, I’m not sure I understand.”

  Borodin let the anxious reply hang between them for several seconds, enjoying the man’s plunge into total mental disintegration. It did, after all, take a considerable investment to get the attention of the senior partner of a firm. Losing an account of that size would raise questions from the other partners.

  Finally, pretending to comprehend, he gushed, “Oh, you think…no, my friend. No, no.”

  The broker’s relieved laugh almost sounded giddy. “You mean you don’t intend to close your account after all?”

  “Absolutely not. Let’s leave, say, ten thousand.”

  Sorenson’s smile faded yet again. “This is most sudden. I mean…forgive me, Melor, but do you mind explaining yourself?”

  “An opportunity.” Borodin spread his hands. He left it at that, knowing it would drive the other man nuts. From his pocket he drew a business card, on the back of which was printed two series of numbers. “The top series is the bank’s telephone number. If you would be so good, wire the balance less the amount specified, and your fee, of course, to the account identified by the bottom series of numbers. I don’t need to tell you that timing is crucial.”

  “As you wish. Of course, it’s no problem. But Melor, as your broker, it’s my obligation to caution you against impulse and to protect you from—”

  “I appreciate the concern, Arne. All is well, I assure you. By the way, this is a Cayman bank.”

  “I…see. I suppose I should have expected that.”

  Melor’s smile widened. “Come, Arne, that is beneath you. I realize this is a temporary drain, but hardly, how do you say…?”

  “Injurious.” The broker swallowed. “You’re right. Think nothing of it.”

  “And as soon as my business is completed there, I will replace the funds.”

  “Will you?”

  “How can you doubt it?”

  The news reassured Arne somewhat, though he was by no means close to being his confident self again. “So this isn’t about something we’ve done? It’s not about the scandal? Trust me, your name is one I’d fight to keep from the police regardless.”

  Borodin didn’t believe him any more than he had hesitated in his decision to transfer his money out of reach of the feds. Tatiana had known him better than anyone. As a result, he could leave no room for closer examination, uncovered trails…anything that might sabotage him. But what he was doing was also in its own way revenge. He had a taste for it, liked to play with it, abstract it, to see how far he could stretch the concept and still derive a degree of satisfaction.

  He smiled now.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Arne.” He extended his hand. “You can count on me.”

  21

  Gray told himself that he had no business feeling betrayed, let alone any of the other emotions boiling around inside him. He was forty, damn it, and as the kids said, should be “way over” such nonsense.

  It was a relief when Jimmy Lester drove in with a trailer of cattle that his mother needed to have vaccinated and checked. However, young Lester, quiet under normal circumstances but undoubtedly recollecting Gray’s surly behavior during his last visit, didn’t offer Gray any escape from himself, and the minute Gray finished, the boy hopped into the cab of his white pickup truck and hauled ass.

  A white pickup truck…Gray swore at how willing his imagination was to go anywhere Sasha led it. Yeah, he thought, he needed to get a grip or he was primed to make a major fool of himself.

  Oblivious to the scorching heat and depressing view, Gray lingered outside, too aware that there was nowhere to go in the clinic without seeing, hearing or sensing the woman. Hindsight being what it was, he accepted that he should have let her stay in the house this morning after that business at the station. She would have found something to eat in there, and none of the rest would have happened. Didn’t the little fool realize that, instead of having a head-on collision with Kenny, she could have run into whoever the hell she was running from? He was about fed up with wondering who that was, as well, and strongly tempted to go inside and get online himself. To hell with leaving a cyber fingerprint.

  And where was J.M.?

  Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t think much about the slam of a vehicle door until he glanced left and saw the edge of a car at the front of the building. Parked that way, the driver was using up several parking spots, not that it mattered. Curious, Gray took a few steps toward the vehicle, and saw it was a patrol car.

  “Now what?” he muttered.

  He strode toward the back door. Halfway down the hall, he heard Frank’s laconic drawl.

  “How’s it going, sweetmeat? I hear you’ve been taking in the sites around town.”

  “Chief Elias.”

  “Kinda surprised to hear you visited our library, though. You don’t strike me as the bookworm type. Oh, wait a sec…it wasn’t books you were interested in, was it? Sorry to hear that their one computer was being used. But will you look at that—there’s a computer right in front of you. Don’t tell me Slaughter wouldn’t let you look up whatever you needed? Know what, I’ve got one next door, too, and it’s all yours. All you need to do is ask nicely.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get—”

  “I’m here,” Gray told Sasha. He joined her inside the reception cubicle and posted himself on the corner of the desk.

  Frank smiled. “So you are. Funny, I passed a minute ago and thought you were out in the yard, kinda looking like an old bloodhound who can’t pick up the scent of home.”

  “What do you want, Frank?”

  “Not you, that’s for sure.” The cop redirected his gaze to Sasha seated behind the desk. “So what was the idea behind the computer? What were you planning to research?”

  “Incidents of arson in Texas, maybe?”

  Frank’s smile waned and he extended his hand. “I think you’ve jerked my chain long enough. Hand it over.”

  While her set expression told Gray that she knew what he was talking about, Sasha didn’t budge.

  “And what would it be?” she asked.

  “Your license.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be up the road. What about the insurance investigator c
oming to inspect the church?”

  “Come and gone.”

  Gray met her questioning look. She was containing herself well, but he knew she sensed bad news coming. “We haven’t heard from J.M.” he said, to buy her time. “He was going to monitor that.”

  “Oh, yeah…” Frank leaned his elbows on the counter. “I seem to recall him being there.”

  “And…?”

  “He left.”

  Gray knew better than to let Frank’s smug smile get to him, but it did. If he wasn’t certain it would bode worse for Sasha, he would have liked to forget an old promise and wipe it off his face once and for all. Weary of the game playing, he muttered, “It’s apparent that you’re dying to poke a stick into some wound, so get it over with.”

  “But there are so many to choose from.”

  “What did the investigator say?” Sasha demanded.

  “He won’t file his report until next week.”

  Gray narrowed his eyes, trying to read the nuances in Frank’s expression. If the prick was here to arrest Sasha, he wouldn’t merely be smug, he would be ecstatic. And if the news was good for her, he wouldn’t have bothered coming at all. “But he’s made some early observations, drawn some conclusions.”

  “Maybe that’s privileged information,” Frank replied. “In any case, it’s none of your business, is it?”

  “Well, since I’m the one being accused, it is my business,” Sasha said.

  “I don’t have to tell you squat…yet. All you need to know is that the investigator confirms we have a case of arson on our hands.”

  Gray uttered a disparaging sound. “There go more consumer dollars down the sewer after the wasted tax money that’s your salary. You don’t have a damn thing and you know it. Cut her loose, Frank.”

  “I have the right and obligation to run a check on her.” Frank’s too-bright eyes held more than challenge. “And I plan to do my job if that’s okay with you, Slaughter.” Without waiting for a reply, he once again extended his hand to Sasha.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said, pushing her chair away from the desk. “You’re only doing this to taunt him and harass me.”

  Frank grinned. “Is it working?”

  Rising, Sasha paced around the tiny room. “Before I surrender any property to you, I’d like to confer with my attorney.”

  “That sounds like a no to me.” Frank smacked his lips together and made a hungry sound. “Great, because I am so ready to have you back at the station. I never did give you a full tour of the premises. It’ll give us a chance to get really acquainted.”

  “Like I said before, you’re a pig.” Gray had to grip the edge of the desk to keep from reaching for him. “You lay one hand on her and I’ll break it, then call the DPS in Sonora. There’s nothing wrong with her talking to J.M. She’s not a flight risk. If she were, she’d have been long gone by now.”

  Frank released the snap on his holster. “I do get tired of you trying to tell me my job. But you know what? I’m in such a generous mood, go ahead and call the old fart. Good luck getting him, though. He got a call a while ago and left the church looking like he’d swallowed a dose of salts. What do you suppose that means?”

  Nothing reassuring, Gray suspected, but he reached for the phone anyway and punched J.M.’s number. He got the answering machine and waited for the message to end. “J.M.,” he began after the tone. “Pick up…come on, I need you. Pick up the damn phone.”

  He waited another ten or fifteen seconds before reluctantly hanging up. When he saw the resignation in Sasha’s eyes, he felt as if someone was peeling a strip of hide off his back.

  Silently, she returned to the desk and reached for her purse. “I’d like to know when I can expect this back,” she asked, handing over the laminated card.

  “When I’m done with it.” Frank didn’t pretend to hide his pleasure as he took the license, making sure his fingers caressed hers in the process. “You want to come with me and wait?”

  Sasha wiped her hand against her jeans. “Believe it or not, that offer is entirely resistible.”

  “Suit yourself. Of course, I may not get to this right away,” he added, slapping the license against his other palm. “Being tied up with the fire, I’ve let other work pile up, so it might be tonight or even tomorrow morning before I can return it.”

  Sasha pressed her lips together and, shaking her head, turned her back to him.

  Chuckling, Frank pushed away from the counter and sauntered toward the door. “Now, if you change your mind,” he said in a singsong voice, “you let me know, hear?”

  He was still laughing as he exited. Gray watched him pocket the license and climb into his vehicle. Expecting him to head straight for the station, he was surprised and relieved to see him cut a sharp U-turn and drive east.

  “The bastard’s going to let you dangle, all right.”

  “Not that I disagree with you regarding his character,” Sasha replied, “but you may be wrong about the rest. If his car isn’t set up with its own computer, and there’s no one at the station to operate the one there, he can still radio in the number to the sheriff’s office.”

  Gray shook his head. “It isn’t, there isn’t and the latter isn’t likely, either.” He met her curious look. “They’re not too fond of old Frank since he got caught messing around with a popular deputy’s wife.”

  With a groan, Sasha put away her wallet. “Well, thank you for small favors, I guess. Is there any female around here who he hasn’t hit on?”

  “As far as I can tell, he’s resisted visiting the nursing homes so far.”

  She burst out laughing.

  The transformation hit Gray like a man stepping out of solitary confinement into blinding sunlight. “My God,” he said without thinking, “you’re lovely.”

  She hesitated, then grew inordinately involved with adjusting the rolled-up sleeves on the clean shirt she’d changed into.

  “I’m sorry,” Gray continued, willing her to look at him again. “Not for that, but for the rest. I should never have forced you to stay. Maybe I was wrong and he wouldn’t have gone after you. Or maybe I was just kidding myself about what I was doing.”

  “Don’t.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not expecting—”

  “Slaughter, if you don’t mind, I’d really prefer not to hear any more.”

  Her sharp interjection worked as effectively as a razor across the throat. Retreating to his office, Gray quietly shut the door behind him.

  22

  Spiritualists could have blamed what was going on in Bitters on a bad moon, and psychologists on the relentless weather pattern, but Sasha knew she alone bore responsibility for driving Gray back to the kind of reclusiveness she understood had been the norm before her arrival. As the second hand on both her watch and the wall clock proved that a minute could feel like a week, she was given ample time and then some to regret her behavior, worry over what had happened to J.M. and dread Frank Elias’s return.

  The only thing that could have made the situation worse would have been the sudden reappearance of that Suburban. The way her luck was running, she thought that was a distinct possibility.

  But it was Gray who set her to pacing. She wished he hadn’t blurted out what he had. He couldn’t possibly believe it helped having the chemistry between them out in the open, not when it was something neither of them wanted or could afford to do anything about. Now there was one more thing preying on her mind, on her conscience…

  And she had to gauge Frank’s next move. Unfortunately, with things the way they were between her and Gray, she couldn’t ask him what time Gerri Rose got off at the café and if she dared hope that they were together. Then again, from what both J.M. and Gray said, Frank had other options. At this point, she didn’t care what it took, so long as he was entertaining himself and leaving her and her business alone. One thing she was already grateful for—he’d given up questioning her about the computer faster than he should have. But was Elias that poor a cop,
or was he giving her a false sense of security?

  She was still brooding over the matter when a champagne-colored Lexus pulled up front. A well-coiffed but frazzled woman emerged, dragging behind her a reluctant motley-colored dog.

  “My college-student son’s,” she explained as she wrestled the animal inside. “He won’t stop scratching my car door.” When the dog settled right over her leather pumps the way Jessie did to Sasha, the woman cast the creature a glowering look. “It’s not like I’m gone for long stretches of time—an hour at the grocery, ten minutes to the bank—but he acts as though I’ve been away on the space shuttle.”

  Sasha wasn’t following. “And you think Dr. Slaughter can do…what exactly?” She glanced over her shoulder, hoping Gray would appear. Surely he could hear them speaking?

  “Well, give me a prescription, of course.”

  Beginning to rise from her seat where she’d just settled to attempt to reach J.M. again, she dropped back onto the chair. “You want him to drug your dog?”

  The woman drew a lint roller from a side compartment of her shoulder bag and brushed at the hair on her pink skirt. “Only tone him down a bit. They give what do you callit to hyper kids and Prozac and whatnot to adults, I figured—will you look at this? He’s turning a Dry Clean Only skirt into mohair.”